We'll have a friend in from out of town this morning, and I think our burst of sociability will end soon after, and everybody will curl up with Christmas books and ignore each other in introverted bliss. And I will be in some danger of writing the end of the Carter Hall Christmas story by Twelfth Night. The automatic resolution generator wanted me to spend more time on hockey in 2007. I can only assume this means "write Carter Hall stories."
Our niecelet has vampire teeth. Hee. Also she sings to herself when pleased, little songs that sound like, "ehhhhhhdo ohhhhhhtoh oooohhhhtoh ohhhhhhtoh." She is often pleased.
I'm in that stage where I wake up exhausted again. We'll try to get past that soon. But in the meantime I find that all the anecdotes and discussions are wedged firmly in my brain, not to come out, and there are lamps to light and dishes to put away and laundry, oh, oh, the mountain of laundry.